Best Manslaughter Poems
A dark room with a small wooden desk, no lamp
A thick pad of paper and a typewriter, never used
Like a museum exhibit, though they aren’t allowed to gather dust
And dead flies and moths, a pack of playing cards
I never learnt to play, but still they’ve turned yellow with age
The shelves full of books, thumbed and read a million times
The pages fall out sometimes onto the slanted shelf, broken
The cascade of over-used books falling into each other
A literary car crash
The carpet burnt by years of clumsiness, dark and worn
The ceiling stained by years of nicotine, the cigarette smoker
Looking on at a world frozen, the books are the only living things
Read a million times and thumbed to death, the dirty pages blending into each other
The faces and the timeless, frozen authors and poets, trapped here forever
In the corner, a lonely television set, never used and not even plugged in
The lonesome keyboard, beaten a million times, my voice recorded
The German tongue, screamed above piano murder, the manslaughter of my violin
A cultural car crash
The curtains, white to ivory to ashen, unopened in an age
Time to let the world come in through the never-before-seen window
I sit upon the bed and watch the silhouettes gather, their vagabond army
Creeping over everything with their tired and dirty little hands
The books I’ve read to death, the literary suicide, gathering in a spot of light
Like flocking birds fleeing for the winter, their matted feathers and scabbed legs
They can’t fly anywhere, trapped here, my favourite victims, dead within the covers,
Like broken pigeons trapped within damning cages. I close the door and leave
The untouched car crash
Categories:
manslaughter, car, world, books, dark,
Form:
Free verse
Poetic Crimes
On and on
they go
the vaccine makes three heads
and sixteen toes
An elephant trunk
and five giraffe necks
not to mention a terrible
desire for Bill Gates micro softy
The 1600's sure had a basket
of stupid apples
how they bred them youngins
into 2021 is scary
Fools existed from the beginning
they will quote gods to the very end
while ventilators count one by one
their last feeble heart beats
Good riddance to the selfish few
go die and let us be
sadly a few will make it
moronic slugs murdering the
innocent
Categories:
manslaughter, america, angst, crazy, sad,
Form:
Free verse
I stand and watch inside this prison gate,
Wondering how I got here, was this to be my fate?
I only did what any man would do,
While trying to protect his family from people like you.
All through life I kept my record clean,
I followed the laws I never made a scene.
Then one night I heard a noise in our house,
I went to investigate, thinking it was probably a mouse.
Then I came face to face with a man all dressed in black,
Taking stuff from my house and putting it in his sack.
Almost immediately my blood got hot,
We started to wrestle right on the spot.
He was fighting with all he had and so was I,
He was trying to kill me, but I wasn’t quite ready to die.
I picked up something from the floor and I hit him hard some where on his head,
I hit him maybe a little too hard cause now he’s dead.
They took me to court and charged me with manslaughter in the first degree,
They said he was a victim of circumstances, well what about me?
They said he had lost his job and was only trying to provide for his family,
And that it was okay what he had done to me.
So here I am behind these prison walls for at least ten years,
My wife and children now with no protection, the worst of my fears.
I have no remorse for what I’ve done,
My only regret was I didn’t have a gun.
Categories:
manslaughter, imagination,
Form:
Verse
Dear DaD,
Please do not think of me and weep.
I did not die on that dim lit street.
I'm the sun that shines on you in a warm loving way.
I'm the son you'll reunite with on some future day.
I'm the young man in your car whom you taught how to drive.
I'm the little boy who looked up to you as I walked by your side.
I'm the sound of children laughing full of happiness and glee.
Do you recall how much I'd laugh when you'd often tickle me?
I'm all those Birthdays and Christmas Holidays that you never forgot.
You would shower me with presents whether I was a good boy or not.
I know that you miss me, that's why I show up
in your dreams as a child or sometimes grown up,
but after the dream has ended, you awaken feeling sad.
Perhaps this will cheer you up.
You Were The Greatest Dad I Could Have Ever Had.
You took me out camping and taught me how to swim.
We'd race and play games and you'd always let me win.
You took me bike riding every morning before school.
All my friends used to tell me, "Your dad's really cool."
I'm all of those bright blue eyed boys that you occasionally see
who all seem to have a striking resemblance of me.
So please Dad, don't ever think of me and cry.
My Presence Is All Around You.
I will never die.
Your Loving Son Always,
Michael
05/04/1974 - 10/27/1991
You Will Never Be Forgotten
You Will Always Be Loved
Rest In Peace My Beloved Son
"To the one held responsible and accountable for my son's death.
To the one responsible for taking my son's last dying breath.
To the one who caused so much misery and sorrow to your family and mine.
To the one found guilty of manslaughter who has now served his time.
If you are truly remorseful, then I've only one last thing to say to you.
If you are truly remorseful then I Forgive you."
Categories:
manslaughter, death, forgiveness, loss, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
In the winter of 1873, Alfred Packer was hired to guide a prospectin' trek.
In the San Juans of Colorady they'd heard of gold that they wanted to check.
Alfred claimed that in Colorady minin' camps he'd driven wagons of ore.
He guaranteed he'd show 'em the valuable stuff that they were lookin' for!
They visited sage old Chief Ouray and he warned 'em to wait 'til spring,
To cross those rugged tors, but no, they wanted to press on and do their thing!
So foolish Albert and five of the group decided to trudge on through the snow!
Of the blindin' snow, lack of grub and perilous paths, little did they know!
A few months later Packer appeared at an Indian Agency lookin' fit and well!
He said he'd been left behind due to injuries, one of many tales he was to tell!
His story changed several times sayin' one man went berserk and killed the rest!
There was evidence that cannibalism was involved but old Albert never confessed!
Packer was jailed in Saguache but later made his escape to Wyoming state!
He was nabbed and returned to Salt Lake City for a trial and sentencin' date.
"They was seven Dimmycrats in the county", pronounced the judge from the bench,
"But yah man-eatin' sunuvab**ch, yah et five of 'em, fer that yer neck'll wrench!"
Later the sentence was reduced to manslaughter and he was given forty years,
To be served at the pen in Canon City, Colorady, but no one shed any tears!
He was paroled in 1901 and moved to Denver where he hung around.
Now his molderin' bones rest in peace 'neath a grassy burial mound!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 7 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Legend" Contest - April 2011
Categories:
manslaughter, funnyold, old,
Form:
Rhyme
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Categories:
manslaughter, cancer, city, education, heart,
Form:
Verse
The headline screamed, or so it seemed,
to those who had known her well.
Said: Killer's Confession Solves Case
(from eleven years ago).
The headline shrieked so now at last
we would know all the horror
of how she was strangled
when they were both drunk
and high on something evil
when he stuffed her body in a log.
Today, his conscience broke down.
She was a sweet big-hearted woman
living homeless in an alcoholic fog.
She kept coming around to the rooms of A.A.
and even though for her we would pray,
we worried her days might be few.
Because he finally confessed
manslaughter is the charge he will do.
Twenty years in jail.
Twenty years seems way too few
for the Dixie we once knew.
Categories:
manslaughter, death, dedication
Form:
Narrative
THE NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS
This year I will Not!
I won’t shed tears no more
Over spilt, spoilt and splattered milk
Trying to win you back
All those years wasted
On a painful, mind numbing love
This year I will Not!
Pray foul prayers for you
Begging, bribing and beseeching
Hoping you will drop dead
In the arms of them ladies
That steal you away from me.
This year I will Not!
Stay awake many hours
Recanting, regretting and regressing
Why, oh! Why me!
Trying to retrace my steps
A hopeless life, a wasted soul
This year I will Not!
Try to hide all these scars
Scratching, slapping even slicing
Recreating my torn skin
Behind the facade of make-up
Make overs and make believe.
This year I will Not!
‘Cause you my dear are no more
Your death, deceasement and departure
Is my sudden re-awakening
Here in the silence of my cell
Fifteen years for manslaughter.
Categories:
manslaughter, anger, death, husband, sad
Form:
Narrative
I m p r i s o n e d.
C o n f i n e d.
D e t a i n e d.
I n c a r c e r a t e d.
Locked in a cell for too long...days of darkness and
wearing orange. Was the accident really my fault?
I was driving safely. It was raining and I swear she
just jumped in front of my car without reservation.
Now I suffer in a penitentiary holding onto all the
guilt one woman can hold. Involuntary manslaughter
conviction and my life is over. Five long years confined
in a cage of remorse and loneliness. Is this fair?
She died and that will always be on my conscience.
F o r g i v e n e s s.
A t o n e m e n t.
M e r c y.
L e n i e n c y.
I have begged for forgiveness for wrongs I have
committed. My freedom regained, but I yet I still am in
prison outside of the bars. No remission can be found
as I lay at night on a cold cement floor in an old car garage
not being used anymore. Absolution would be nice.
I know I may have been wrong, but doesn’t everyone
deserve to be exonerated? I need vindication in my soul if
I wish to move on with my life.
F o r l o r n.
A b a n d o n e d.
N e g l e c t e d.
I s o l a t e d.
I have had more days of rejection than I can ever count.
No matter the season I have been deserted and left
friendless beyond comprehension. I needed love to
survive and apparently surviving is not in my future. I crave
the comfort of a good home and a warm bed to lay my
head. I thirst for clean water and nourishing healthy food.
But these things are not given and are not available for
me to receive. One mistake one rainy night created a chain
effect that has brought nothing but darkness in my days.
I am sorry. Please forgive me for your death, young lady.
Not a day goes by I don’t wish I could take it back.
Accidents happen, and mine cost me my freedom.
F O R S A K E N.
Form F Contest
Broken Wings
January 25, 2017
Categories:
manslaughter, anxiety, emotions, life, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Man must come to grief, fortnightly intervals of
Ache shall never cease. This world a bulky box which
Parcels items of tears and fears in multitude thereof
And a few parcels of love and joy we all wish.
Old tenant Moses lost his wife and his landlady's daughter
Was raped, whilst each man mourned his plight,
Mr President closed his fragile eyes and Jos’s manslaughter
NTA did broadcast, last week's Sunday night.
But in all man must be happy or gay
(Or join absent ones far from this plane of existence
As old Moses did when he dropped his pressure in May)
And pledge to God, and then enjoy his assistance
We treasure our lives for those lovely days
We see problems as part of life's ways
Categories:
manslaughter, life
Form:
Sonnet
As the door to my prison cell slammed shut.
It was then I realized just how deeply my life had sunk into this rut.
And why, what was the reason that put me here?
Second degree manslaughter and they said it quite clear.
It seems I plowed into a van full of kids coming from a high school game.
One mother cryingly said, don’t you have any pity do you feel any shame?
For she lost two sons that night, that night of the game.
I was there executioner, I was to blame.
I was just out for a good time making all of the bars.
I didn’t know I was that drunk but I still pack those scars
The jury found me guilty that very first day.
And the old judge handed me my sentence he said son you must pay.
Well locked in those handcuffs they carried me back to my cell.
I heard one mother holler, I hope you rot, you rot in hell.
Thirty years was the sentence but not near enough.
For it was three young men’s lives that I did snuff.
The death penalty would have been more fitting for this deed that I’ve done.
Letting a drunk person drive is like giving a crazy person a gun.
And I think the people that sell the stuff need to be accountable as well.
Let them get a little taste of sitting in a cell.
Folks this is just a made up story but it could have been true.
For there were many nights I was out there driving drunk uncaring of what I
could do.
I’m the lucky one, for God took my desire to drink and I don’t anymore.
Alcohol is an addicting drug with a swinging door.
It weakens all your defenses and it makes you a bum.
And like the man in this story his life will never be worth nothing he turned it to
scum.
So friend if you’re an alcoholic, admit it to yourself then seek help, and right away.
But please do it before something like this happens, that’s all I have to say.
Categories:
manslaughter, death, high school, hope,
Form:
Narrative
When a burglar ate some of my expired food, it made him expire.
The next day I learned that an attorney was who I needed to hire.
They've sent me up the river for twenty years for manslaughter.
I've lost 50 pounds because they only feed me bread and water.
I wish that I had a bottle of Jack Daniels or vodka because I want to get soused.
What the hell has the USA come to when I go to jail because a thief burgled my house?
I hadn't gotten around to throwing my expired food in the trash.
Now I cry every day because my attorney took all of my cash.
Even though he took all of my money, he lost the case.
The prisoners lust after each other in this horrible place.
I can't take this prison any longer, my situation is so dire.
If you get arrested, my lawyer is somebody you shouldn't hire.
Categories:
manslaughter, death, food, funny, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Truly those days were fun,
Little children playing each,
With a fine decorated toy gun,
Life was serious yet catchy;
And we were easily convinced
‘ Sit back, I will buy you Akara’,
Was enough to pacify and evinced.
I can still peep through the silhouette,
Of throwing stones at Mango fruit,
And playing with a plate of omelette,
Those hid and seek games in the rain,
Truly those days were fun,
We went on errands without gain,
Whether it was under the sun!
And when a person died in the hays,
Goosebumps, fear sits in the air;
I can’t forget those jannock days,
As fear was harbored, decency was the heiress
An old woman could tell her daughters,
“Do not touch or allow a man touch you,
For when you do, you will be in a family way:”
I wish to go back to those days in decipher,
For the imagination of her dream, is not new.
These days;
Even a seer can’t see what a teen talks,
And behold, they are all on Tiktok,
Staring at things our fathers only but imagined,
And when you tell them to face their books,
Oh God! They are on Facebook,
These days, decency is just but a crime,
And when you see it, we call it archaic;
Mothers that should do their job,
Are their, on the sad side of Instagram,
Influencing in their nude paraphernalia!
Majority of these parents will taste,
Eli’s strength, a sad reality disguising,
And truly this age is punctured;
And it is bleeding in black jars,
Where then should I start the tale from,
Truly the beat has changed;
Leaving us naked in the daylight;
Where is our morality forte?
Even the news of these days,
Does not sit well with the mind...
It is either abduction, manslaughter,
Banditry, and all those odd news,
I’m debilitated and would want,
To go back to those days!
My eyes are witness to this insouciant.
Categories:
manslaughter, character, depression, identity, integrity,
Form:
Blank verse
...When we heard of his loss we took it hard,
at first it was very hard to believe,
and it made me double my efforts to
moderate my own debauchery.
But within a year it all began again,
this time with Bomber, our hammer on the drums,
he was always something of a wild man,
and ever sober could be somewhat...dumb.
I know it sounds awful to talk like that
since I always really liked the guy,
but he was a man who lived for the moment,
and difn't reflect on things deep inside.
He also spent cash on powerful cars,
and one day after a big drinking glut,
he got in his Porsche and managed to wrap
his car around an old-growth chestnut.
Bomber somehow survived the big crash,
but would soon face long imprisonment,
the groupie in the passenger seat
took the brunt of it, died in an instant.
Bomber has never forgiven himself
for taking away someone's daughter,
they say he still cries, serving twenty years
in jail for vehicular manslaughter.
Now the band was back to Riff and myself,
hired sessions hands to fill in the gaps,
even decided it was best to go clean,
just to avoid these destructive traps.
But the damage had already been done,
two years later Riff didn't feel well,
the doctor confirmed he had H.I.V.,
and he quit touring, to conserve his health.
Now before you ask, he's doing okay,
today's drugs really knock down the disease,
the doctors all say he'll live forty years,
which is about what I expect for me.
Maybe he got it from dirty needles,
he dabbled in the hard drugs, he did,
but more likely he got it from a groupie,
hell, he has two out-of-wedlock kids!
Riff has always liked chasing the trail,
I think it goes back to his high school days,
before stardom he'd just been a band geek,
too awkward to ever get a date.
When famous he overcompensated,
he was always slipping off with a girl,
and when he received the diagnosis
it altered pretty much his entire world.
He went out and found those two children,
raises then now as a stay-at-home dad,
want them to have a good family life
and I a cannot blame the man for that.
He did built a home recording studio,
still writes and plays on all the albums,
but he'll never strut the stage with guitar,
I guess that phase of his life is now done...
CONCLUDES IN PART III
Categories:
manslaughter, addiction, celebrity, endurance, music,
Form:
Narrative
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
At the end of last year
I nearly died here
There was hooting in my ear
I was attacked with cheer
And lips so dear
Their statements unclear
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The following morning was snowy
My lungs were windy
I was exceedingly Mindy
Snowy day, windy lungs; not anymore Wendy
My favorite for the New Year would be Cindy
At getting her, I was handy
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The New Year is an incubator
Incubator of joy and laughter
Tiz a predator of flatter
Its preys are gloom and manslaughter
I foresaw joy it would be later
I nearly died of laughter
Categories:
manslaughter, fun, funny,
Form:
Rhyme